


Coming Around

by Anilkex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilkex/pseuds/Anilkex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ prompt for a Sick Dean and Caring Sam:</p>
<p>After John dies, Dean has the boys hunting nonstop, and Sam lets Dean run them ragged.  Sam is shattered, but he knows that it's something Dean needs at the moment so he's not going to get in the way. And he still doesn't say anything when Dean starts getting sick, just watches him closely and lets him do what he needs to do. But it's been a few days now and his big brother is getting worse and not better. Time to take some action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Around

Sam woke to the Impala shaking, and for a brief, panic filled moment, he thought that Dean, once again, picked someone up and was going to town in the front seat while he slept in the back. Instead, to his relief, it was Dean _coughing_ in the front seat, while trying to grab fast food napkins out of the glove compartment.

Stretching, Sam pushed himself into an upright position and asked, in as neutral a tone as possible, “Hey...you okay?” It was a familiar series of words that came out of both their mouths all the time, and the usual response is always…. _wait for it…_

“ _*sigh*_ I’m comin’ down with something, I think. Kept me up most of the night. Sorry I woke you.”

…

_Wait...what?_

When did the rules change to where they were honest about how they felt?

Reeling from the admission, Sam furrowed his brow and leaned against the front seat. “You didn’t wake me...it’s...um…” Sam ducked his head to peek at his cell phone clock. “it’s...late…”

Dean scoffed. “Since when is six a.m. late?” He slammed the glove box shut and wiped his nose, shoving the sort-of-used napkins into his pocket.

Sam blinked. “Since I said so...look, let’s go get a room somewhere and stay put for a couple days ‘til you beat this bug.”

“Nah, it’s just a stupid cold. I’ll watch it and keep it under wraps. Found another hunt anyway, over in Idaho of all places. Go piss on a tree if you gotta, then I’ll get us to some coffee.”

Sam unfolded himself from the back seat and walked hazily to a large tree a short distance from the car. He was still processing that Dean was sick, and that Dean voluntarily admitted to being sick. Did that mean something? What was he supposed to do? How should he react? Should he buy tissues?

They’ve been hunt-hopping ever since the accident with Dad. It was worse than after Jess died. Back then, Sam was in too much of a fog to even know what the hell was going on around him. Dean handled everything, and he always made sure things didn’t go too far, that Sam didn’t run himself into the ground.

Dean always handled everything for Sam.

And now? Dean’s _still_ in charge of getting them from hunt to hunt. He’s arranging all the gigs, mapping out where to go, handling all the phone calls and email that come in from Bobby or anyone else. He’s also been pushing them so they stay busy, so they don’t have to think about Dad and what he did.

And that’s the problem.

Sam needs to process. Sam needs to deal. _Sam needs his brother._

They’re together practically every minute of every day, but emotionally, they’re so far apart right now that Sam ached all the time. It looked like Dean needed Sam, too, but there’s no way for Sam to reach him. Dean had an iron-clad grip on what they do and where they go, and there’s no room to interject or slow them down, even now that Dean was sick.

He zipped himself up and stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. He just woke up, but was still so exhausted he could barely think straight. He moved to rub his eyes, then remembered that he just took a piss. Grimacing, he shuffled back to the car and got in.

He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye while liberally applying hand sanitizer to his hands. Dean was frowning at a map while absently rubbing at his nose. He sniffed and put the map down.

“Ready, Germophobe?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s go. I need some caffeine.”

xxxxx

Two days later, they pulled into American Falls, Idaho.

“Seriously, Dean? The hunt is in Massacre Rocks State Park? You have to be kidding me…” Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. Mysterious deaths were occurring in a park called Massacre? Really?

Sam hoped Dean was kidding. If he were, it’d be the return of his off-color sense of humor, and as much as Sam complained about it, he missed it terribly. It was one more piece of Dean that’s been gone since Dad died.

“Not kidding, Sam.” _Not even Sammy…_ “Four confirmed dead, three missing. Something’s out there, and we need to find it before the...uh… _ESSHH! *sniff*_ numbers get higher.”

Sam nodded slowly, making another mental tally mark. Fourth sneeze this hour.

They’ve been sleeping in the car on the side of the road for three days straight, to a soundtrack of Black Sabbath and Dean’s sniffling. Sam’s still physically hurting from the accident, even though it’s been a few weeks. Not being able to stretch out, take a decent shower, and really sleep is taking its toll on him.

And if it’s taking its toll on Sam, who _doesn’t_ have a cold…

“ _ITSCHCHH!_ ”

…. _yet_...doesn’t have a cold, _yet_...then the physical toll on Dean was much worse.

And now that’s five.

Sam sighed and stared hopefully out the window. “So, what’s the plan? Get a room here in town and check out the locals and the park tonight?”

“No, I want to camp at the park, so we’re right there.” Dean’s voice was low and scratchy. 

Sam sat up straighter, scrambling for a way to derail Dean’s plan to run himself into the ground. “Dean...I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Really? Why is that?” 

Sam sighed inwardly at the curt, abrupt pattern to everything Dean said these days. “Because...it would be easier for us to set up a base in an actual room. Because we’ve been in the Impala for three days straight and...and it’s getting cold out.” He winced yet again at the whiny tone his voiced ended up adopting. He couldn’t bring himself to actually confront Dean again - not after how it ended up at Bobby’s.

So perhaps the whining would work. He rubbed his eyes and tried to look tired and pathetic. It didn’t take much effort.

It also didn’t work.

Dean just shook his head, eyes still on the road. “Cable TV doesn’t trump someone’s life, Sam.”

The scolding made Sam wince on the inside, and sigh, again, on the outside. That was always _Dad’s_ argument - _people’s lives were at stake_. Sam agreed that his life wasn’t worth more than anyone else’s. He wasn’t _that_ selfish. He just didn’t think they needed to make it easier for death or injuries to find them.

Slumping in the front seat, Sam stared out the window, and changed the topic. “Are there any witnesses involved or are we kinda blind on this one?”

Dean turned into a campground, and parked next to a cabin and a sign that said, “Registration”. He flicked the keys in the ignition and cleared his throat. “One witness - a little boy. Not sure where he is or how helpful he’ll be. One report said he was ‘irrevocably traumatized’. That’s all I know. C’mon, let’s check inside.”

Dean got out of the car, a little stiffly, Sam noted, and coughed his way to the front entrance. Sam followed a little more slowly. So...one traumatized little boy and a Dean consumed by guilt and a need to set something… _anything_...right. 

They were screwed.

xxxxx

The clerk at the desk gave them directions to a camping spot large enough for the Impala and the imaginary tent and camping supplies they were carrying in their trunk. She also disclosed the names of the remaining campers who hadn’t fled when the disappearances started.

“Most folk believe it’s a bear or maybe a coupla bears who are just hungry and skittish.” She clucked her tongue and looked around conspiratorially. She hooked her finger at Dean, telling him to come closer for an amazing secret. Dean glanced at Sam before leaning in. “Others say it’s a monster - one with giant fangs and sharp claws.”

Dean turned on his most charming smile, which, even with a cold, was quite charming. “What do _you_ think it is?”

The woman leaned back, blushed, and shook her head. “Oh...I don’t know. But a _monster?_ Please - that’s so silly.” She laughed, a high-pitched sound that bubbled out of her, while her hand went to her throat. She batted her eyelashes at Dean, who just smiled more outrageously at her.

Sam almost threw up.

“Well, ma’am, we’re not afraid of a mystery monster. We’ve heard wonderful things about your campground, and this is where we want our brotherly bonding to happen. Right, Sammy?” Dean turned his smile on Sam. 

Sam had been absently reading captions posted under the photos of the park’s various rangers when Dean spoke to him. When Dean cleared his throat loudly, Sam whipped around, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Absolutely. Nowhere else I’d rather be!”

The woman blushed again, and gathered up the park paperwork for Dean to complete. When her back was turned, Dean shot Sam a look. _Focus, dude!_

Sam smiled apologetically and stood next to his brother, hoping to avoid another scolding. Dean filled everything out, that smile on his face the whole time. The woman fiddled with her necklace, watching Dean’s every move. Once the papers and the weekly fee were collected, Dean laid it on thick.

“Thank you so much, ma’am. You’ve been so helpful.”

“Oh, it’s no bother. Just...doin’ my job. Now if you need anything… _anything_...you just let me know.” She smiled a knowing smile, and Sam thinks he actually did throw up in his mouth, a little.

Dean managed to blush and nodded his head. “C’mon, Sammy...let’s get going.”

As soon as they got outside, Sam took a really deep breath. “Holy shit, man…”

Dean just shrugged and kept walking to the car. “She had info we needed, Sam.” He put the key in the door, and sneezed twice before getting inside.

Sam sighed as he sat down. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

Dean inserted the keys into the ignition, and turned to Sam. “Do you want me to drop you off somewhere? Meet up after I’m done?”

Sam stared at his brother incredulously. That’s not what he meant, and Dean knew it. But the look he gave Sam was cold and distant, designed to make Sam back off and fall in line.

Sam knew this. But it worked anyway.

He lowered his eyes. “No...I just…”

“Then let’s get going before someone else gets hurt.” The Impala roared to life, and he drove them to their campsite.

xxxxx

The last few weeks have been miserable, but tonight was rapidly becoming the worst of them all.

Dean had them trudging through the woods to look for clues, even though the sun had pretty much set and the temperature had dropped to where they could see their breath.

Everything was damp - the ground, the trees, Sam’s hair, Sam’s clothes, even the air was cold and wet. Sam slipped a couple times, the wet leaves creating an almost icy sidewalk as they wound their way further into the trees.

He bit his tongue to keep from demanding their return to the Impala. Sitting in a cold car was better than this frosty stroll. And it was frosty both literally and figuratively.

Dean barely spoke. His flashlight illuminated every bush, branch, and blade of grass for signs of whatever they were hunting. Since Sam couldn’t shine his light on Dean’s face, he couldn’t gauge Dean’s condition. What he could see, though, was the light from Dean’s flashlight bobbing occasionally, as Dean stifled a sneeze or muffled a cough. 

He stopped counting after a while, because it didn’t matter how high the number got - they weren’t going back anytime soon.

But when the dampness soaked through Sam’s shoes, making his toes numb from the cold, Sam knew he had to say something. Just as he opened his mouth with an appeal to Dean’s brotherly instincts, Dean held up a hand for silence.

He dropped into a stealthy stance, prompting Sam to do the same. Dean nodded towards a collection of bushes not far from them. Frowning, Sam tried to find what his brother was staring at intently. He almost missed it, but there it was.

An arm.

Barely visible, and just lying in the bushes.

As in...not on the ground, not connected to someone and poking out from underneath, but an arm, free from a body, lying on a set of branches.

Sam wrinkled his face together. _Gross…_

Dean’s lips pursed together as he cautiously moved towards the limb. Sam shined his light all around the area. No tracks, no broken branches or damaged tree limbs, no nothing.

When they reached it, Dean sniffed and sneezed yet again. He shook his head and shined his light on the arm, allowing them a closer look.

It was a woman’s arm, Sam noted, slender and pale. A wedding ring was on a finger, glinting at them in the light. Dean moved the light to the severed point, frowning as he bent to get a closer look. 

It hadn’t been savagely ripped or even bitten off. It looked like it’d been cut off - clean and precise.

Both men recoiled a little, glancing at each other in shock. 

Sam poked around the bushes, shining his light to see if the rest of the body was nearby.

Nothing.

Dean absently scratched his neck and sighed. “Take a picture while I look around a bit more.”

Nodding, Sam snapped a few shots using his phone, noting where Dean walked cautiously around him.

“What do you think?” Sam asked softly, feeling like he was disturbing something if he spoke any louder.

Dean shook his head and shrugged. “Doesn’t look like the work of some fanged creature. No sign of a wild animal, a struggle, nothing.” Sam nodded in agreement, and hugged his arms around himself for warmth.

“So now what?” He didn’t want to sound like an asshole by wanting to go back to the car, but he wasn’t sure what else they could find in the dark. 

“Let’s see if we can find a body.”

Sam waited until Dean turned around before hanging his head and giving into a whole body shiver. 

After another hour, and no other body parts or leads, Dean decided to head back. By then, Sam’s teeth were chattering and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. He couldn’t fathom how Dean was holding up, given that he was already sick. 

Then again, Dean was a master at shoving everything down and boxing it up and locking it away, whether the discomfort was physical or emotional.

The walk back seemed to take forever. Sam worriedly watched his brother stumble through the woods, their trek finally starting to affect him to the point where he couldn’t hide it.

Or he didn’t care about hiding it.

Either way was bad.

The rattling cough started first, almost bubbling out of him. Dean even had to lean against a tree for support, because really, why would he lean on Sam?

At some point, the sneezing hit. At first Dean stifled them. Then a few escaped, rocking him forward, and threatening his balance. Sam wanted to rush over and help guide his brother back to safety, but remembering Dean’s curt words and abrupt tone preventing him from acting.

So he settled for partial hovering, walking close, but not too close, hands ready to catch an unsteady brother should he need it.

They finally reached the Impala and crawled inside. They couldn’t start the engine and get heat due to the late hour and the obnoxiously loud rumble she created, so they settled for burrowing within their jackets and pulling out sweatshirts from their duffel bags.

Sam, relegated to the back seat, bit his lip to keep from making any noise whatsoever. He knew that one groan or sigh wouldn’t go unnoticed. He removed his socks and shoes, folded his legs under him for warmth and tried to cover himself in random pieces of clothing.

Periodically, he peeked at Dean, sitting stoically in the front, breathing through his mouth and occasionally wiping his nose with some napkin he probably dug out of the seat cushion.

Sam couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking, and he could only guess at how he was feeling. Dean stayed silent.

Unable to take it anymore, Sam figured they could at least discuss the case. So he cleared his throat, and in a tentative voice, commented, “So what do you think could have sliced that arm off a person without any signs of a struggle? I mean, are we dealing with a monster that uses tools?” He’d settled against the door, blowing on his fingers to encourage blood flow.

Dean shrugged and sighed. When he answered, Sam almost jumped at the burbly undertones of his voice. “I dunno. Definitely not what I expected at all.”

Sam waited for more, but got nothing. This time, a sigh escaped his lips, but a furtive glance told him that Dean seemed to think it was Sam’s frustration with the case rather than with him that provoked the outburst.

“So what do we do now?”

“Wait ‘til morning, then go talk to the other campers. See if they know anything.”

Nodding, Sam yawned, surprised at how tired he was.

“Get some sleep, Sam.” And with that, Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, ending communication for the night.

xxxxx

When Sam woke, the first thing he realized was the cold. He was shivering, the sweatshirt pile, that covered him when he fell asleep, had fallen to the floor, and he was still wearing his somewhat wet jacket and pants.

He tried to stretch, and grunted in pain when his cold sore muscles were forced to actually move. Returning to his little ball shape, Sam then noticed it was barely light out. The sun was poking through the treetops, creating speckles of light all over the inside of the Impala.

One of those speckles was on the top of Dean’s head, almost looking like a bald spot. The thought of Dean discovering a bald spot made Sam smile. 

Then he frowned. Old Dean would have loved to hear that story, followed by the different ways Dean would kill himself before allowing a bald spot to appear on his perfect head. New Dean wouldn’t want to even hear it.

Speaking of New Dean, he was awake, staring out the windshield. He had a crumpled up fast food napkin or tissue or something in one hand, and it was pressed against his nose and mouth almost in desperation. He started to cough, but kept his mouth closed tight, refusing to give himself the relief of clearing his airway. Sam watched, with growing alarm, as the cough bubbled to the surface, only to be forced down with heavy swallows and barely controlled force. The sound was grating, uneven, and painful, kept under control and soft so as not to alert the world that Dean Winchester wasn’t operating at his best.

Or, that Dean Winchester didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy or concern, let alone someone to die for him, because he was, and always will be, just fine.

His eyes closed, and his breathing hitched. His nostrils twitched and he opened his mouth a little as he inhaled deeply. Sam could see him fighting for control, and when he finally sneezed, it was restrained. Not stifled, but definitely restrained, confining something massive and explosive into a minimal event.

This went on for a few minutes, until Sam just couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he mumbled, opening the car door.

Dean, not knowing Sam was awake, jumped, breaking his concentration and losing the battle he was marginally winning against his body.

“ _Hhhhh-TSCHEW! TSHHUH! ITSCHEW! HTSHHCH!_ ” 

“ _Fuck_ , Dean!” Sam scrambled to find something, anything, to help with the onslaught of sneezing.

Dean fumbled with his door handle, somehow managing to open the door. He staggered outside, _away from Sam_ , and leaned against the Impala’s hood. 

After one particularly forceful sneeze, Dean stood, gasping for breath, until one jagged inhale triggered a round of painful coughing that left him bent at the waist, fingers almost clawing the hood.

Sam cautiously made his way around the car, eyes wide and heart racing. He watched Dean’s hand desperately searching for something to hold on to, something to help, something to steady him.

Without hesitation, Sam marched over and took Dean’s hand. Still coughing, Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist. With a burbly sigh, he leaned his head against Sam’s chest. Maneuvering himself so Dean’s weight was against him, Sam applied pressure up and down Dean’s back to help loosen the crap that was trapped inside.

Dean bent further, spitting onto the ground. Finally, the coughing stopped, and Sam could feel the rattle beneath his palm all down the length of Dean’s back. When Sam noticed the grip on his jacket hadn’t lessened, and the weight against his chest became heavier, he knew they were done.

Sam snaked an arm around Dean, and guided him to the rear of the car. He opened the door, and gently placed Dean inside. Too exhausted to fight, Dean slumped to the side with a sigh, resting his head against the vinyl backseat.

Still a little worried that Dean would put up a fight, Sam quickly slipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled out of the campground.

“Sam…” The painful gasp came from the backseat, followed by another round of coughing.

Sam eyed his brother through the rear view mirror, and shook his head. “I got you, okay? I got you…”

xxxxx

By the time Sam returned to the motel room from the store, _his_ nose was running and _his_ throat was sore. As he turned the key in the lock, he silently prayed that Dean was still in bed, still asleep, still compliant.

He gently pushed open the door, and found a mostly still-in-bed Dean, who was still mostly sleeping and mostly compliant.

Sam’ll take it.

“Hey...up already?”

Dean made a feeble attempt to sit up. One leg was on the floor, while the rest of him remained under the blankets Sam piled on him before running out to a drugstore. 

Sam put everything on the table, and started unpacking it all. 

“Can’t sleep...can’t breathe...need to piss…” Sam chuckled as he left the supplies and turned to help his brother out of bed. Dean’s face was pale, with the exception of fever splotches on both cheeks. The look was almost clown-like, encouraging Sam to get rid of the fever as fast as possible. He winced with every swallow, every breath was a rattle, and every move was followed by a grimace.

Dean Winchester was a fucking mess.

“C’mon, then. Up you go.” Together, they made their way to the bathroom. Upon reaching the door, Dean swatted Sam’s hands away and entered by himself.

Even though Sam was coming down with whatever Dean had, having a purpose other than hunting made him feel better than he had in weeks. He finished unpacking the medicine, including the not-too-expired antibiotics he found lurking in the bottom of the med kit. Upon hearing the toilet flush, Sam rushed to the door and helped his brother back to bed, desperate to do anything and everything possible to make Dean just...feel better. 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the table, skimming over everything Sam had gathered together. He sighed as he sank against the pillow, letting Sam pull the covers over his shivering body. Immediately the coughing started up again, threatening to steal Dean’s breath from him. Sam propped pillows against the headboard, so Dean could sit comfortably.

Sam grabbed a fresh box of tissues, resting them on the nightstand with a quick smile. “No more napkins, okay?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Reuse and recycle, Sammy.”

Sam almost missed it - it’d been so long since he heard that nickname. It froze him to the spot, threatening to undo him in plain sight.

Dean grabbed a Kleenex. “You okay?” He sneezed forcefully, glancing at Sam afterwards. 

Sam shook his head, blinking away the tears. “Yeah. I...nothing. It’s nothing.” He turned and grabbed the medicine, sniffing loudly as he brought the pills back to the bed.

He sat down, curling one leg underneath him. “Here...take these. All of them, okay? Let’s see if we can avoid going to a doctor…” He broke off and sneezed into his shoulder. “ _Fuck_ …” Sam plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose.

Dean took the pills in shaking hands, eyeing Sam closely. “I got you sick, huh?”

Sam sniffed again and shrugged his shoulders. He finally saw traces of his brother in the man before him, and he couldn’t bear to lose him again. Carefully choosing his words, Sam tried to deflect Dean’s guilt. “I probably gave it to you in the first place.” He handed Dean a bottle of water and nodded at the pills. “C’mon...take them.”

Dean grunted and rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Satisfied that everything landed where it needed to go, Sam nodded his head, patted Dean’s leg and started to get up.

Dean grabbed his arm. Sam looked at him questioningly. Avoiding his gaze, Dean let go, and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Sammy…”

Sam huffed a smile. “Sure thing.”


End file.
